


Bullshit

by InfaWrit10



Category: Welcome to Hell - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon Universe, Cyberpunk AU, First one's weird, I will do things from the kinkmeme eventually, Now with Prompt Fills!, Platonic Relationship, Prompt 1110, Prompt 231, Real-Life Inspiration, Romantic Relationship, Warnings will be written in the notes before each story, but mostly my own ideas, references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-08 11:06:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7755307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InfaWrit10/pseuds/InfaWrit10
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a series of one-shots for Welcome to Hell. These one-shots are visions that I got, and are just too strong in my head to leave alone, so they'll go here.   If I decide to do something with one of these ideas, don't be surprised if one goes missing ;)  By the way, I recommend reading the notes, they'll help a little bit with... stuff, haha.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. All We Feared

**Author's Note:**

> This one's a bit of a serious one, sorry not sorry. I don't know why I decided to post this one first. I had this idea where everybody was earthbound for a period of time and that nobody knew why. Everybody was worried about Sock so they made Jon, someone he trusted, keep him calm (pretty much babysit him) and this would be the introduction to that, this thing I'll never write because I don't have any way to further execute the idea. I /could/ really go ham with this one, but as of today, I do not have any other ideas.

_Jonathan had no idea what it was, but something had possessed him to rouse himself. Early._

_His eyes opened, getting used to the darkness. He sensed nothing. He sensed the nothingness which was the lack of a certain thing._

_And then he—glazed with sleep—remembered. Sock._

_He tossed the blankets to the side, and felt the lack of a lump next to him. Sock’s body heat was gone, but his hat was there._

_Jonathan brought his puzzled gaze to the window, seeing flickering lights below._

_“Oh fuck.”_

_He tore down the hall and bolted down the stairs, uncaring of the arousal of the entire house. He had to get to Sock before he hurt himself or someone else._

_Jonathan rammed his body into the door when it refused to open for him. Remembering that it was push not pull, he fell through the doorway and basically skated across the driveway to get to the fire in the trashcan and the person standing next to it, no doubt it's igniter._

_He skidded to a stop, pebbles scattering from the reaches of his abusive feet._

_He pulled Sock away from the burning trash, turning him around by the shoulders to face him._

_“Wake up.” He shook him, Sock’s head falling limply back and forth in sleep. “Wake_ up _.” He shook him again._

_Sock’s eyes opened at different times, one stuck closed temporarily by the demanding force of his subconscious. He looked dumb, still half-asleep._

_“Wake up, Sock,” Jonathan calmed, gently giving Sock the last verbal tug he needed to be brought back into the waking world._

_Sock blinked a few times before asking in a sleep-riddled voice, “Jonathan?”_

_He blinked some more as Jonathan responded, “Yeah, yeah it’s me.”_

_“Jonathan…” Sock breathed and fell into Jonathan’s arms, having faith that he wouldn't let him hit the painful pavement below._

_Jonathan was flustered for a second, blinking as he caught his bearings with Sock in his arms. He turned his head to find four pairs of expectant eyes glowing with the flames near him, no doubt illuminating him and his demon in the night as well._

_Nobody said anything. The nervous gaze Jonathan gave everyone in return to their own said everything they feared._

_“Can somebody please put this out?” Jonathan finally asked._

_Everyone stood still for a moment before Providence nodded. “Yes… Yes…” Even She sounded slightly distant for a moment before continuing, “Mephistopheles, can you please grab me the fire extinguisher? It’s next to the door in the garage.”_

_“Certainly,” he assured her before jogging up the driveway to do so._

_“Jonathan, you take Sock back upstairs. Girls, you go too.”_

_No one argued with Providence’s instructions. They all solemnly went._

_Jonathan picked Sock up and brought him into the house. It was difficult bringing him up the stairs, but thankfully he didn't need help carrying him._

_The girls strode unhurriedly to their respective rooms, Jonathan moving past them to get to his and Sock’s at the end of the hall._

_He laid Sock down gently on the bed, getting in after him and slinging an arm around the demon._

_It felt routinely._

_He knew worse was yet to come, but restraining Sock like this… He didn't know what good it was doing anymore._


	2. Pros and Cons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonathan and Sock plan to go to a convention, but they get into a bit of an argument before heading out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I came up with his after a full day of just watching South Park (I think, anyway, it's been awhile since I came up with this)... So... Here.

Sock tore the hole in the hood open. _Air…_ He thought, choking on it for a moment before looking at his roommate, Jonathan.

“Again, _why_ do I have to wear this?”

Jonathan turned to him, an indifferent look on his face mirroring the attitude he always carried, his hands in the pockets of his own hoodie. “Because _you_ wanted to cosplay, and that jacket was the only thing I had.”

“But cosplaying as Kenny? That’s about as much effort as getting off the couch.” Sock pointed out, feeling himself start to perspire underneath the heavy coat, but not daring taking it off. Jonathan hadn't seen his hair yet. He’s known the boy for a year and a half, and he had been living with him for four months to help pay Jonathan’s ridiculous rent, yet he still hadn't seen his wacky-ass hair yet. He wanted to keep it that way.

Sock’s hair is a complete mess… perpetually. He has tried everything from gel to various hair care products to hairspray, and even cutting it. Nothing has ever _worked_.

“Do you wanna cosplay or not?” Jon replied, now sounding at least slightly irritated.

“Well… Yeah…” Sock sheepishly admitted again, seeing flashbacks of when he’d first brought it up. He cringed under the coat. _God I sounded like such a weeb…_ he thought.

Jonathan crossed the room and stood in front of him. He paused, then abruptly took the cords hanging from the hood and pulled. Sock momentarily lost vision and the ability to speak clearly. He could still hear a muffled, “So stop bitching” come from the other side.

Sock clawed at the hood again. “Would you cut that out, please? It’s stuffy in there!” Sock whined. Jonathan hated when Sock whined.

Jonathan closed the hood again, letting Sock see him, but not letting him speak. “Stop whining. It was my money that bought the tickets, anyway.”

Sock tried to speak, then realized that the hood was a gag to him again, and so he tugged at the lining of the hood, realizing it was second-nature by this point. He put a hand on his hip and the other beside his head to exaggerate the numbers, “1. I’m going to pay you back when I get a job-“

Jonathan cut him off, “If you could hold _down_ a job…”

That was a low blow for Sock. He really tried to hold down jobs, really, but no mater how he tried to charm his way out of it, he always seemed to get fired. He ignored the comment, even when he felt the sting through the thickness of the ghastly orange coat. “2. It was my idea to go in the first place. You didn't even know it was going on so close by until I told you!”

This was true, Jonathan hadn’t known that the convention was in the area. He had always been curious to see the epitome of geekiness, but he didn't really want to face the crowds or the shit his wallet would give him for spending money on curiosity. Besides, with Sock around now, he wasn't all that curious anymore. Sock was a man-child of extremes, so when he geeked out, Jon could definitely tell that it was the epitome of what he would see if he were to go to a convention.

However, while Jonathan would never admit it, he would do anything for Sock, whether he wanted to or not. Sock just had this influential hold on him, and Jonathan had no idea why. So when Sock had asked him to go with him, he had managed a reluctant ‘yes’.

“And you didn't have to say yes either…” Sock added, crossing his arms.

“Yes I did,” Jon countered.

“No you didn't.”

“Yes I did. You would have tried to sway me somehow.”

Sock mulled that over, and realized that he was right. In the past, Sock had tried everything to persuade Jonathan to do something. From screaming to puppy eyes, to empty threats of killing him to not-so-empty threats of kissing him, and there was still a whole list of things that fell in between.

“Huh, you’re right.” Sock admitted aloud, staring at the upper corner of his bedroom when the thought occurred to him.

Jonathan nodded with a sarcastic smile.

Sock smirked, “But you always do it, though…”

Jonathan’s smile dropped and he pulled the cords once more, and by now, Sock already knew that it was just a gesture for “shut up”.

Now, Sock didn’t curse… ever, really, but he took this as an opportunity to really get into his character that he was forced to portray. “Fuck you.” His muffled voice nearly perfectly imitated Kenny’s.

Jonathan laughed. Sock was glad that the hood covered his blush- er, cheeks. To be honest with himself, Sock was fond of Jon in more ways than just a roommate or a friend. The way he laughed, the way he smiled, and the fact that he didn't do either often. It was odd that Sock found that as a positive, but he thought it was more special. When Jon did smile or laugh, Sock knew it was genuine and that it was a treasure all for him. It was also his stance. The way he walked, the way he talked, the way he looked when he would respond to someone in conversation. Everything he did just made Sock crazy about him.

Sock smiled beneath the coat, pulling the fabric closer instead this time. Just in case. The dust suffocated him. He poked his nose out of the opening.

Jonathan looked back at the mess of orange that was the coat he found in his attic. “Aren't you hot in that thing?”

Sock pulled on the rim of the jacket again, mischievously slurring, “I dunno. You tell me.” He then posed, trying to be sexy and failing miserably.

Jonathan rolled his eyes, “You look it.”

Sock’s eyes widened, “Wait, seriously?” His voice went up a few octaves and quieted down a little in disbelief.

“Yeah. Your face is all red and you’re sweating.”

“Right! Right, that’s what you meant,” Sock recovered, smirking as he teased the blonde.

Jonathan, once again, pulled the strings.

“C’mon, I don't wanna waste my money.”

Sock ripped the fabric from his mouth, “But I can't wear this! It’s too hot! I’ll die from all the body heat!”

“Well, you either go as that, or you go without a costume.” Jonathan turned on his heels, unsympathetically leaving Sock in his room.

Sock took a look at the bed, his hat laying idly on the blankets. He began to unzip the coat watching Jonathan’s back as he strode from the room.

“Are you coming or what?” Jonathan asked, turning. Sock did the first thing his primitive instincts told him, a panic clogging his chest and head—Jonathan could not see his hair—flung the coat at his roommate’s head. He didn't realize he was still hanging onto it until the was on tiptoe, his roommate’s face completely covered in the orange hood. The fact that his was face was covered didn't help the fact that Sock was still centimeters, tantalizing centimeters from Jonathan’s face, his covered lips. Sock gulped, and quickly realized that Jonathan had caught him by the hips as well. The smaller burnt a crimson that a fire engine would be impressed with. He pushed back—even though relishing that feeling was what he would rather do—and bolted to the bed, getting his hat on in the nick of time.

When Jonathan had managed to wrestle the coat into his arms and away from his face, he saw Sock’s panicked gaze fading and his knuckles white as he clutched the flaps of the hat. That totally wasn't suspicious.

Sock saw the look in his eyes, and knew immediately what was going to happen. He tried to flee around Jonathan to the door, but the blonde caught him with ease. Sock focused all his strength into his fingers, not caring if he ripped the thing at this point, so long as Jonathan didn't see his godforsaken hair. That was a big thing that Sock didn't care if he ripped it, for it was one of his prized possessions.

Jonathan pried Sock’s fingers off and freed it, the hat now in his hands.

“Please, Jonathan!” Sock cried, although he didn't know exactly what he was pleading for. For him to give it back? For him to look away from his ridiculous nest of hair?

Jonathan laughed, not outrightly. He’d tried to conceal it for the first few seconds, but he failed.

Sock’s lip quivered, he knew this would happen. He didn't cry, or even feel the urge, but he still felt like someone punched him. All those memories of being made fun of, all those days where he was ashamed—

“That’s awesome.”

Sock brought his eyes back to Jonathan’s. “What?” he asked, utterly confused.

“Yeah, I think that’s cool. It’s very… you.”

“But… But you laughed.” Sock immediately felt stupid after pointing that out. _Yeah, stupid, do you wanna point out that you’re breathing in air, too?_

“Because it’s funny. And it’s original, I’ve never seen anything like that before… I’m sorry if I offended you…”

“No, no! It’s cool, just… I don't know… No one’s ever... complimented me on it before…”

“Well…” Jonathan looked awkward, his voice reflecting his shifting weight on his feet, “Now you have. So can we go?”

“Can I have my hat back?” Sock rolled his wrist to offer a receiving hand.

Jonathan seemed to have momentarily forgotten that he was the one holding it, “Oh. Yeah, right.”

Sock looked at the coat dropped carelessly to the floor between their feet as he brought the hat back down on it’s resting place. His gaze lingered there, before wandering up to the blonde’s face. He stepped over the bundle of winter attire into Jonathan’s personal space.

“One more thing…”

“Hm?”

Sock kissed the first available patch of skin where Jonathan’s cheek met his jawline. “Thank you.” Sock didn't expect an answer, but he kept eye contact for a bit before heading down the hall. “Make sure to turn off the lights for me, k?” he called casually.

Jonathan lips quirked into something of a smile, and the word was more to himself, even more toward the show of appreciation, “Sure.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not extremely happy with how it turned out, but... I'm kinda sick of re-reading it. And yes, I know there's a grammar mistake with that one paragraph, but again, I'm sick of re-reading it. I have been for months. I'm sick of seeing it. Maybe I'll fix it later.


	3. A Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moment of calm with Sock and Jon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Both of these boys are me right now, so I wrote something about it.

Jonathan laid on the couch, headphones snugly over his ears. Jonathan, in a familiar form of relaxation he'd retreated into ever since high school, wrapped himself in the music; the lyrics, the beat, the instruments, all of it. His legs were sprawled across Sock's lap. Said male was sitting upright on the couch--well, somewhat. He sat slouched, eyes on his phone, on his tumblr feed. Neither male was present in the situation, focused on their own business, but they were with each other. That, in itself, was wonderful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise that I have so many more ideas for this, it's just that everything I've been writing lately for this fandom has been absolute shit. When I get out of that habit, this will update more frequently, hopefully.


	4. The End of the World Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demons invade Earth through a rip in the tunnel system. Are Sock and Jonathan fazed? Not really. Although, Sock may need a little bit more time in getting used to having a living body to take care of again...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, for starters, no, I do not actually know what they're looking for in this scene. I just needed a motive for them to be there in the first place. Secondly, this scene actually has two inspirations. One, the setting was inspired by the party scene in the second Maze Runner movie (a.k.a. one of the best scenes in that movie). And two, I believe that this was actually subconsciously inspired by 'Darling, It's Raining Fire' by LadyFeb29. It is one of the best W2H fics I've read, and the atmosphere is kinda in the same vein as that fic, so... Can't rule it out. I've also been working on this idea for MONTHS and I'm FINALLY posting it, so I'm ridiculously happy. But without further adieu, here it is.

‘ _THE_ END OF THE WORLD PARTY’ Sock read on his way into the opening of a building that was falling apart. There was a broken neon sign hanging up in the right corner by one side reading ‘Lust’s Garden’.

“This must have been a nightclub before it all happened,” Sock concluded, raking his eyes over the structure to see just how many holes he could find in the brick.

“Maybe…” Jonathan said, looking up to where Sock was looking.

Sock, after a few more seconds of checking the building over, pulled on Jonathan’s sleeve. “Come on.”

They stepped in, and were immediately assaulted by the sheer volume of the music. It was louder than a metal concert in the space, and Sock could only assume that it only got louder from there. The music was techno, and while Sock liked the genre, every beat punched into his head, his brain immediately rejecting the intruders. He clutched his head, “Agh, this is giving me a headache. We better be quick about this.”

Jonathan sharply nodded, heading off to the left of the club while Sock took the right.

The longer Sock ventured further into the old club, the more unsettled he was. He had been shocked that there were people in the club in the first place due to it’s structural integrity’s reliance being obviously doubtful. Still, the number of people was overwhelming, as well as the… supplies they had with them. There were drugs all over the place. Everywhere Sock turned, somebody was popping a pill, smoking anything known to man, or relying on a needle to pump them with substances. Sock wrinkled his nose in discomfort when he saw an energetic boy—maybe in his late twenties—do a line of cocaine. He hurried his steps a little until he was past the entrance to the room the boy was in.

Every step, every beat was painful. Sock had no idea why it was affecting him so much. He’d heard loud music before, this wasn't that big of a deal… so why was his body treating it like it was?

The pounding in his head got so bad at one point that he felt his knees give out, reaching to grab the end of a nearby table in another one of the odd side-rooms that branched off the main area. He clutched his head, feeling a groan rip through his throat without hearing it, just that damn _music_.

He was panting, sweating under all the body heat hitting him from nearly every direction. He thought that maybe he deserved to take a few moments to steady himself before he went back to searching again.

...

Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale… Sock found that he was struggling to breathe, his body rejecting the hot, humid, drug-laced toxin that was the air surrounding him. His lungs found tiny bits of oxygen here and there, almost not enough. He coughed his carbon dioxide out every time; so much for the exhale.

… A few more minutes of that.

He got up, left the room. The pain was getting worse by the second, growing, mutating until climactically, agony reared its ugly, sinister face. Unlike its origin’s less-effective, stagnant form, agony was a shape shifting thing. One moment it was a monster, the next it flooded through his head like water, fluidly. Every movement he made triggered it to move along with him. His vision was getting blurry around the edges.

He got to his third room. It got worse, the agony was rising in level, taking up his thoughts in its wake. He heard their final cries as they drowned: I wonder how Jonathan’s doing? Is it affecting him like it’s affecting me? I have to keep looking! It’s not safe here… I have to find him… The pain… Oh god, the pain… Each thought a separate entity, emotion behind them varying as they were snuffed out.

He screamed, as the liquid agony shaped a dagger in his head, twisting around until all that remained of him was carried away by the music.

Meanwhile, the perimeter was at least partially safe as Jonathan walked it. He encircled the main room, inspecting faces and the grunge-y décor from a distance. He only ran into one couple doing god-knows-what against the wall. He made a wide circle around them, pushing past dancers.

The main area was clear, no sign of it. He ducked into a side-room. He was greeted by the overwhelming smell of alcohol. He found a beer-pong game in full swing when the strong smell wore off enough to open his eyes. He wiped away the tears that had sprung from his baby blues and sniffed. Let’s get this over with.

He spotted a guy who looked particularly red-faced from the wall. For one reason or another, Jonathan sensed something off about him. He kept his eyes on him, and moments later, the man’s body ripped away from him. Jonathan’s eyes widened, witnessing the transformation from man to monster as the skin tore itself away, revealing a marble-like appearance to a beast with incredible muscles—muscles that the man had not had—and ram horns on either side of his head. He climbed the wall like an insect, claws digging into the brick. What disturbed Jonathan the most was the grin that was the only connection between the man’s previous form and his new one.

Jonathan couldn’t ignore the memory of Sock telling him about what other, more-experienced demons looked like. The beast before him was a near-perfect match to the description.

_I’ve gotta find Sock._

He hurried out of the side-room and tapped a woman on the shoulder. With pursed lips, she turned to him.

“Excuse me! Have you seen my friend?! He’s got a weird hat--?”

“I’m your friend too, darling,” she purred in his ear after inspecting him, uncaring of what he’d initially said and the urgency of it, “Whyn’t ya say we--?”

Jonathan gently pushed her away from him as he rudely cut her off, “No thank you.”

She shrugged and turned back to her old partner, dancing again.

He gave up on asking anyone else for help. The more he looked, the more they all seemed to be entranced, not even noticing him as he passed directly in front of them.

He ducked into another side room at the far end of the club, seeing an even weirder sight there. A beautiful blonde woman sat atop a throne, people kneeling at her feet. She locked eyes with Jonathan as he stepped in, and as she smirked and Jonathan blinked, she changed. Her horns came in dark gray while her body grew as well as colored itself an unnatural pink. Jonathan blinked; she was back to normal.

He shook his head and ran out of the room, fleeing to the one next door.

The room was thick with many things: body heat, cologne, a horrible smell he couldn't place and moving bodies. He coughed as a break in the group he was standing in front of revealed a sight that made his blood run cold.

Sock laid sprawled on his back on a pool table from the waist up, his legs hanging down the side of the table. His hat was partly off, hands limp beside either side of his head. He was unconscious.

Jonathan shoved his way through as fast as he could with the restricted movement, not taking his eyes away from his unconscious companion. When he got there, he stood between Sock’s legs, trying to inspect him with little care of exactly where he was standing. He placed two fingers to the side of Sock’s neck for a moment. Pulse. Good. He shook him.

“Sock, wake up,” he mostly told himself this, his speech getting swept away into the beat of the music pulsing in the floor and the walls and everywhere.

“Sock, come on.” He shook him harder, careful not to bang Sock’s head into the table beneath him.

“Sock, come on, talk to me!” Sock’s head was swinging limply on his neck, and Jonathan found after that third try that it was no use, he had to try something else.

_Come on, Jon, think of something! You’ve gotta get him out of here!_

He got an idea. It wasn't the best idea, but he hoped that it would work. He knew that he wasn't strong enough to carry Sock out, and dragging him all that way to the main entrance would be very near impossible.

He bit his lip, _I hope you can forgive me for this…_ and without a second thought, smacked the side of Sock’s face as hard as he possibly could.

Sock shouted, and flung his hand out to grab the son of a bitch who just—he examined the clothing in his fist, and then the face of the person wearing it. His eyes widened considerably. “Jona—?”

“No time, come on.” Jonathan hurried them both out, Sock hunched against his body the whole way to the door.

It was incredibly strange how the music wasn't sensed in any way once they were completely outside of the club. No vibrations in the ground, no remnants of the sound outside. However, considering what Jonathan had seen inside, he wasn't surprised. He couldn't remember if they had heard the music on the way in or not now.

They ran from the club until they were a good distance away before finally stopping, panting under the summer sun.

Jonathan stumbled when a sudden weight on his body triggered a response. He looked down into the blinding sunlit reflection of Sock’s goggles as the ex-demon embraced his middle. He acknowledged the boy say his name, felt the edge of his mouth form the word lightly against his shoulder, and Jonathan knew that he’d never heard anyone, especially Sock, sound so distressed. It was different from when he whined; here he sounded weak, vulnerable.

“That was awful…” Whimpers dotted Sock’s breathy response, and he turned his head and lowered himself to his normal height from the tips of his toes to bury his face in Jonathan’s chest rather than his shoulder.

Jonathan had been embracing Sock back around the waist for a few moments now, he hadn't realized it. When he did, it took him a minute to bring an arm up to grab Sock’s shoulder from behind, forearm between the smaller’s shoulder-blades. The position, hopefully, made Sock feel safer, as it pulled him closer to his body, and Jonathan hoped he wasn't weird for thinking that it should.

Jonathan dumped string after quiet string of what he hoped were comforting phrases from his lips, hoping that Sock would stop shaking. Before he could begin to think of how to ask Sock about what he remembered, the bare skin of his arms began to grow frigid beneath him.

“Woah, you okay?”

Sock only responded with, “It’s so cold all of the sudden…”

Jonathan pushed Sock back gently and began stripping himself of his hoodie. He handed it to Sock, who gave a tiny smile and a quiet “Thank you, Jonathan” before zipping it up.

It was so incredibly big on him. The gray material drowned his small frame in something akin to a bear hug, one that discharged body heat in copious amounts while dispelling any feeling of being alone or afraid. Sock had never felt anything like it before. That combined with the intake of proper air again, Sock was the closest he’d ever be to heaven. If… if he fucked this up again.

Jonathan popped his thought bubble, “Better?”

Sock’s throat hurt from all of the screaming, and he met Jonathan’s eyes without a quick enough answer.

“What happened in there?” Jonathan asked, eyebrows linked and concern evident in his every fiber.

“I… I don't know. The music… Something with the music got to me. Which was weird, I’ve heard music that loud before and I’ve never had a problem. It was just…”

“Just what?”

Agonizing wouldn't have been a stretch, but Sock didn’t want to sound like he was exaggerating. “Painful.”

Jonathan took him by the shoulders, “Are you alright? You haven't answered my question.”

“Yeah, yeah I’m al-“

A shudder rocked Sock’s body. Even though warmth was slowly moving itself into his body from the gray hug surrounding him, the cold still rattled him from deep within. It reminded him that he had been dead once, and that his body, without him inside, had been this cold, especially with that late-September air on it in the cemetery behind his house…

Jonathan saw, and wrapped Sock in another hug.

Sock felt that cut into him, into the desolate cold, feeling it dig deeply beneath a few layers of himself that the hoodie hadn't helped. That was him, Jonathan, the knife that didn't hurt. Not just his warmth, but also his concern, his companionship. Jonathan could have run when Sock told him about what happened, what he chose and why; he could have run so far away and Sock could have never seen him again. But he hadn't. He’d stayed. Sock didn't know what it meant, but his body felt it as the cold released his core and raced for his skin, only to become the other half to a stalemate of fronts. Sock’s eyelids closed, scrunching up when he hugged back.

Jonathan realized how human Sock was with how tightly he’d reciprocated the gesture. He was a pest, yes, but he was also so vulnerable at points, you could knock him down with a single remark. This human needed him, Jonathan was his stability right then. Regardless of Sock’s state of being, they were still stuck with each other. Not because they had to be now, but because they felt an obligation to the other to make sure they were okay. And there he was, Jonathan Combs was admitting to himself that he cared about Sock.

_Sweet Jesus, what happened to the apathy?_

Sock made adorable little sounds in his throat unknowingly as he shifted his head and tightened his grip. They caught Jonathan’s ears, and he resisted the urge to sigh. He felt himself caving; into what, he didn't know. “Still cold?”

“Not really. My head still kinda hurts though…”

Jonathan hummed in understanding before letting go. “C’mon, we’d better get home.”

Sock nodded despite the pain and walked quietly by his side for awhile.

The crunching of the ground beneath Jonathan’s feet was comforting. The fact that Sock really wasn't alone was comforting. He didn't even care that Jonathan had smacked him to wake him up before; he knew that waking him up was a feat.

Regardless, Jonathan broke the pensive yet comforting silence by bringing it up, “I’m sorry I hit you earlier…”

Sock looked confusedly at him, “What?” Sock kept his gaze on him for a moment.

“What?” Jonathan asked.

The two simultaneously fumbled over words in their own mouths and tripped over the words of the other. Jonathan explained how he thought he knew about the hit because he’d grabbed him afterward, and Sock tried to explain over him how it was okay. Finally, Sock got a word over Jonathan’s wall of over-explanation, “Don't worry about it. I don't care.”

“You don't?” Jonathan returned his confusion with his own expression.

“No. I know that waking me up is a challenge…” Sock admitted, slightly sheepish.

Jonathan didn't look convinced, even though Sock gave him no reason to think that what he was telling him was a lie.

Oh wait.

“Besides,” Sock continued, “if I get a bruise, it would make me look tougher, right?” Sock walked backward to show Jonathan the other side of his face, the one he’d hit. He cocked his head, modeling the potential.

Jonathan smiled, bringing his gaze back up to ensure that he wouldn't walk into something.

Sock had succeeded in making Jonathan’s conscience a little less heavy. He grinned: mission accomplished.

“C’mon, wouldn't it?” Sock pushed, walking a little faster to keep up with the blonde’s longer legs.

“You couldn't look menacing if your life depended on it.”

Sock closed his eyes and cocked his head upward proudly, “On the contrary. You underestimate me. I can look very scary, if need be.”

“Show me,” Jonathan dared, slowing his pace absentmindedly.

“Nah… My fear factor is too much for you. You’d piss yourself if I showed you.”

“More like piss myself laughing.”

“Out of fear,” Sock added.

“People do that?”

“Laugh out of fear?” Sock nodded, “Yeah. I do, at least. But it’s more like an awkward chuckle than anything else, so it would be unlikely that you would piss yourself doing that…”

Jonathan scoffed, “You’re weird.”

Sock smirked up at him and countered with the classic response, “You just noticed?”

With an amused smile, the blonde replied, “I noticed that you suck faster.”

“Hey!” Sock shoved him.

Jonathan stumbled, but didn't stop chuckling. Then he turned, and looked Sock in the face when he pushed him back.

The two were gentle as they began to knock into each other with their shoulders. Looking each other in the eyes with light smiles, they travelled further away from the decomposing area just outside the city.

“It’s weird…” Jonathan began, “Now that you have a body and I can touch you and stuff…”

“Yeah…” Sock absently agreed, staring into the space of thinking of so many things at once and not all of them appropriate.

“Are you… Are you used to it yet? After being dead for so long?”

Sock snapped out of it, looking back at the boy next to him. “Well, I mean… It’s kinda… I don't know… Yes. But a year’s not that long, remember.”

“To not be alive?”

“Well that’s a different story…”

Jonathan paused… Curiously, he asked, “Sock?”

“Yeah?” his smaller companion answered.

“What’s it like to be reborn?”

Sock froze… “Well… You feel lighter, you feel… a little less disgusting to the rest of humanity…” He shrugged.

Jonathan shrugged as well, not knowing what to say.

“I’m so glad that you don't wear one of those light hoodies…” Abruptly switching topics, Sock nestled further into the hoodie around him.

“Are you still cold? It’s warm out.”

“So you should be grateful to have such a heavy hoodie off of you then…”

Jonathan rolled his eyes, “Seriously though, are you cold?” He tried to cover it up, but concern laced the air around him. He hoped that Sock was oblivious enough to have it go unnoticed.

“A little, not really. But I hope you aren't planning on getting this back…”

“You better be kidding...” The darkness Jonathan descended quickly into at that moment had Sock laughing out of fear. “I will kill you again before I let you take that from me.”

“So I mean less to you than a piece of clothing… Ouch,” Sock joked, “It’s nice to know where your priorities lie.”

Jonathan rolled his eyes again, a smile pulling at his lips. Jonathan had no idea what would happen down the road, but he did know one thing: when he was with Sock, nothing felt like the end of the world. Nothing felt urgent or lethal, and honestly, he couldn't be more calm during a demonically-apocalyptic scenario if he were with God herself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note: I actually have more ideas for this universe, so I'm working on a continuation to this scene currently. I'm also planning on writing something that expands on the whole "sock gets reborn" idea. I don't know what to really do with it though, so what I have in my head right now will most likely go here. By the way, this one's for you, Feb, hope you like it :)


	5. Batting Vases

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonathan gets home from school to find a vase belonging to his mother is in... no real danger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is dedicated to a great friend of mine. Keith, even though you'll never read this, you're the best. AND IF YOU EVER DO READ THIS YOU BETTER LIKE IT I'VE HAD THIS IDEA FOR MONTHS. I... dont even wanna go into how much effort I put in to write a /page and a half/. But all that aside, here's the finished product that's been begging to be written since June.

Jonathan dragged himself up his driveway, hearing his crazy bus driver careening through his neighborhood faintly behind the fog of exhaustion that had accumulated over the past few days. He had nearly fallen asleep in four of his classes and legitimately fallen asleep in two. The short naps hadn’t helped much. Hell, he’d say that they hadn’t helped at all. He turned the knob of the front door, stupidly thinking that he’d unlocked it already when he hadn’t even moved to grab his key yet.

He briefly thought, _What the fuck?_ Quickly followed by _…God, I’m tired._

He shook his head at himself with a heavy sigh, embarrassed and unamused, and began to reach into his messenger bag to fish for his key.

He realized that he’d reached into the wrong pocket after two minutes.

_Jesus… You’d think I’d be used to being this tired by now…_

He finally brushed the cool ridges with his fingers, and snatched it from the very bottom. His messenger bag fell limply to his side like a dead thing—fast, and weightily. He shoved the key into the lock, and pushed against the door to get it to open.

His mind pinged him with a question as to where Sock was. He had left him alone today. Jonathan vaguely remembered something he’d mentioned about a meeting, and that no one would be able to hear it due to “construction”.  Whatever that meant. He hoped that the pest was gone still, maybe then he could get some actual sleep. A longer, undisturbed period of sleep sounded wonderful.

He had only trudged into the foyer and past the entryway when he felt eyes on him.

He resisted the urge to sigh.

He walked backwards, stopping right outside the doorway to the living room. His reluctant gaze swung in on a limp neck.

On the table sat a precious vase that had been hand-painted in… Taiwan, maybe? All he distinctly remembered about it was that it was important to his mother. And above it, grinning maliciously, floated Sock armed with a baseball bat.

 _Lord knows where he got that from_ , was all Jonathan could manage in that moment. He didn’t feel a pang of panic, or any sense of urgency whatsoever. He didn’t know what made up more of that specific form of apathy in him—the fact that he was too tired to care, or that he knew Sock was a little pissbaby, and wouldn’t do anything. Besides, he couldn’t touch things. _How is he holding that, anyway?_

Sock wasn’t moving with the exception of wiggling his eyebrows. Jonathan figured that he wanted some kind of response, and he considered not giving him one. He _really_ considered not giving him one. Against his better judgement, two words slipped from his mouth in deadpan, “Sock… no.”

“Sock yes,” Sock replied instantly, adding a little challenging nod.

“Sock, no,” Jonathan’s apathy was increasing by the minute, his uncaring nature slipping in from whatever-the-hell possessed him to cave into the little annoyance’s whims in the first place.

“Sock yes,” Sock repeated, lifting the bat slightly.

_... Oh this’ll be easy._

“Sock no.”

“Sock yes.”

“Sock no.”

“Sock yes.”

“Sock yes.”

“Sock no—wait, what?!” Sock exclaimed in disbelief. He couldn’t have been outwitted by that, he wasn’t that dumb!

 _I’ll be taking this,_ Jonathan thought as he calmly strode into the room, and grabbed the vase with a plan to set it in the cabinet so that Sock couldn’t get to it.

The dumbfounded demon held himself unconsciously in the air as he watched, not truly processing that he’d _actually_ fallen for that. Sock shook himself out of it, bolting after the teen with an indignant cry,

“Hey, that’s not fair!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw, the crazy bus driver thing is actually a part of my life. Seriously, every time I get on the bus, I think I'm gonna die.


	6. Prompt 1110:  Awkward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a fill for Prompt 1110 (My OCD is killing me) on the wthkinkmeme, which reads as follows: "Because he can't touch Jonathan without Jonathan's express consent, Sock has to ask permission for everything, from holding hands to a kiss on the cheek. This very quickly becomes awkward."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is short, this is also kinda personal, but eh. I like it. It's not the best thing I've put out, but I like it. Fluffy Sockathan for you all! If I don't get in another update before the holidays like I want to (I have a Christmas-y idea that I've been trying to execute (nice pun there, Writ), but it isn't working how I want, so I probably won't make it), then Happy Holidays! I hope you shove sugar down your throat in large quantities, get a lot of great gifts and wear a fuckin' ugly sweater!
> 
> Also, thank you for all the kudos and support I've gotten since I started this. It means so much to me whenever I see a new person who likes my writing! But please, dont hesitate to critique me, I'm always striving to get better! The only thing I ask is that you do it nicely, please and thank you.
> 
> Now, here is 'Awkward'.

“Um…?”

This was starting to get really annoying.

The small, unspoken question hung in the air by Jonathan’s side. He knew that an expectant pair of green eyes stared up at him, and white teeth bit down onto an almost innocent, supple lip underneath them. He’d seen it so many times that he’d memorized every detail of shyness, even purity in Sock’s expression. He knew how each word fell from Sock’s lips, each word within the few questions he asked him when he gave this adorable and infuriating look.

He was sick of it.

It was adorable really, the way Sock always asked before he touched or kissed his new boyfriend, but it was really starting to irritate Jonathan how he _had_ to ask. He couldn't do anything without Jonathan's consent, which was good in some ways, but Jonathan believed that it really wasn't romantic if you _asked_ to do something. Then again, he was basing that belief on human relationships… He noticed that most of the words in Sock’s questions had fallen away recently, just a question if he could do _something_ , some vague thing. He was appreciative of that, and it gave him the thought that maybe Sock thought in the same way he did about having to ask, but Jonathan knew that if he wanted something to feel right with Sock, he’d have to initiate it himself.

Jonathan tried to cool the annoyance that was surely bubbling up within him, not wanting Sock to suffer from his inner ranting. He brought his gaze down to Sock, and Sock shifted in discomfort as he waited for Jonathan to give the okay.

“Sure,” the blonde consented, watching as Sock’s eyes closed and leaned in to peck his pale cheek. He closed his eyes as well, still feeling happy that he could interact with Sock in the first place, but he felt awkward about it.

Sock felt awkward, too. Not only did he sense Jonathan’s awkwardness, but he did think it a bit weird to ask something of someone romantically. There was something attractive in just taking a leap into the unknown with someone like that, and Sock wanted to know what it was like…

This went on for weeks, and the two had been dating for a little over two months when Jonathan snapped.

Sock was clutching his hand—something he’d asked to do—as they watched a movie. Jonathan didn't take note of or care about it, all he was particularly focused on was Sock. He had looked more adorable than usual this morning, leaving Jonathan wanting to do something. He wasn't good with words, and after all, actions speak more loudly…

Jonathan suddenly released Sock’s hand in favor of wrapping his arm around his bony shoulders. Sock smiled and leaned into the touch, continuing to keep his eyes on the screen. Due to Sock’s response, it made the whole thing a bit harder to execute. His head was in an inopportune position, tilting slightly down into Jonathan’s chest, and he’d have to lean away from him awkwardly in order to get his chance. He did so. His neck curled in on itself and his shoulders came up a bit so he could angle accordingly. He eventually got there, lips meeting Sock’s temple tenderly. Jonathan’s nose touched Sock’s head when his lips left, staying there before straying to Sock’s jawline, where he laid his lips again.

Sock couldn’t think. Jonathan was being so openly sweet all-of-the-sudden, and his normally apathetic nature giving way to this was honestly surprising. His cheeks were set aflame fairly quickly, Jonathan feeling his flustered smile underneath his lips as his boyfriend’s cheeks tightened.

Sock nuzzled into the touch a little when Jon’s lips pulled back again, rubbing his forehead into the pale temple beside him. “What is this?” he asked with a smirk, receiving only a quick peck to his lips.

Sock blinked, taking in the sight of Jonathan’s bitten lip—a habit he’d inherited from him—and the tingling sensation of the saliva on his lower lip. His first kiss now laid on the boy he loved’s lips… His shock quickly evolved into a smirk. He went in for another knowing that this time, he didn’t have to ask.


	7. Prompt 231:  Hesitation Ink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a fill for prompt 231 on the wthkinkmeme, which is: "Can there please be something about Jonathan having a real neat tatoo? Like he just got one on his torso someplace and it doesn't mean anything really it just looks reaLLY frikken badass like a fox or something. Like imagine someone discovering it via make outs/snooping etc when he's just got it and it's still red and sore, or later when it's all healed and suPER FRIKKEN BADASS"
> 
> (...HOly shit that was long.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNING** There's really no /actual/ NSFW content in this fic, but it comes pretty close. So please, if that's something that you don't like, just be wary. There is voyeuristic content as well as mildly sexual content, so please, again, act accordingly to your tastes.
> 
> Okay so... this is the most NSFW thing I've ever written. It's also pretty cheesy, but... I like how it turned out. I think I followed the prompt pretty closely, and it was pretty much exactly what I imagined when I first saw the prompt!
> 
> Also, just so everyone's aware, I'm in the middle of two Christmas-y things for this, but... honestly, neither of them look like they're gonna get finished soon. Fuck.
> 
> ANYWAY... uh... I'll just leave this here.

Sock considered turning back.

_Maybe I should… I mean, he wouldn’t like someone like me._

He stared at the door in front of him, noticing flecks of white wood peaking out from beneath the gray paint.

 _However, he_ is _my friend… isn't he? And friendships_ do _sometimes lead to other things…_

He bit his lip, scrutinizing the door. He pushed air out of his nose. He was tired of debating with himself; he had been doing so for twenty minutes outside of the door, not to mention how much time he’d had to think about doing the very thing he was about to back out of in the week that he’d avoided Jonathan. Before he could think of another reason as to why this was _such_ a bad idea, he shook his head and went to knock. The door swung slightly on its hinges upon contact with Sock’s knuckles. His face contorted in confusion, and he had that thought…

_Did something happen?_

He rushed inside the apartment, briefly checking all of the rooms with increasing worry. Heading to Jonathan’s room, the blonde’s name died in his throat when he heard the beginning to a song he himself had introduced Jonathan to.

_Well, he’s home at least._

He was about to knock, he truly was, his hand was raised and everything… but he suddenly couldn’t avert his eyes from the small patch of skin he’d spied behind the tiny crack between the slightly open door and its frame. One green eye peered into the room, watching as Jonathan just got the waistband of his boxers up around his hips. Jonathan wasn’t particularly toned, but Sock still couldn't deny that every time Jonathan moved, the way his muscles would shift inside of him made him more attractive. His eyes ravaged the bare skin of Jonathan’s shoulders, broad back, the backs of his biceps… He studied the movements, the way Jonathan’s back slowly grew before he let out a sigh, the way his biceps squirmed and his forearm flattened as he ran his fingers through his hair…

Sock’s eyes widened, _What am I_ doing _?!_ He wanted to slowly back away, flee from the situation that would undoubtedly add to his already huge problem. But he just _couldn’t_. He feared that, due to his natural clumsiness, he’d easily be caught. That, and the fact that he didn’t _want_ to look away might have also had something to do with it. His heart pounded, each beat so incredibly strong that it shook his core, muted the sound of Jonathan’s footsteps as he moved a little closer to the mirror above his dresser. Jonathan’s arms spread out and leaned rigidly into the dresser, a pale pinky scraping the edge as the song continued to play behind the scene.

Quick visions, two of them, flashed through Sock’s mind right then. Jonathan hugging him from behind, arms strong around him, openly displaying affection for him and only him. It was cute, intimate, Jonathan’s face burying itself further into his nest of hair. The next one, while unrelated to the first, was just as effective in a different way. Sock’s suddenly bare skin was stroked by strong yet tenderly-moving, calloused hands on their way down, while lips and teeth encircled a sensitive place on his neck…

Sock quickly killed the moan in his throat, resulting in a small whimper that was barely audible. _Not the time_ , no, _not here, not now—not ever!_ He bit his lip. _I shouldn't be thinking of him like this!_

He was trembling, knees suddenly feeling too unstable to support him. He gulped, took a few silent breaths to calm himself.

He looked back in, despite the danger. He spied something interesting then.

On Jonathan’s side, _just above_ his hipbone, laid a drawing stuck to his body. Simple black lines formed a fox, standing steadily on all legs, gazing into Jonathan’s mirror with eyes not clearly visible. All around the drawn creature on the raised hills of skin was red. Not ink, but a redness that didn’t look comfortable underneath a thin sheet of plastic wrap.

Jonathan pulled up a pair of sweatpants after staring in the mirror for a bit too long in thought. A quiet whimper escaped as the fabric brushed against the irritated skin. Sock’s eyes grew soft while his eyebrows knit in sympathy. He resisted the urge to let an ‘aw’ crawl out his mouth. He wanted to kiss it better, hold him, do something goofy to make him laugh until pain was irrelevant… He bit his lip again, trying to direct his attention away from Jonathan’s pain that he could do nothing about.

He noticed a damp towel on his desk chair. _He must have just decided to get dressed. Judging from the dry hair, he’s probably been out for awhile. Peh, lazy._

Gazing around the room once more, Sock noticed that there was no shirt lying around. _He’s even too lazy to put on a shirt… not that I’m complaining._ Sock perversely thought, followed by, _Oh crap! Once he’s dressed he may wanna get out of his room. I—I’ve gotta get out of here!_

Sock was out. He dashed out through the hall and back into the hallway in front of the tiny apartment, trying to be as silent in the manner as humanly possible.

Hearing something behind the music that held his focus once the initial pain subsided—not necessarily knowing what it was—Jonathan perked up, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. _Did someone knock?_ The song changed to one by the same artist: Visitation of the Ghost. He smiled slightly at his phone where the song came from before heading out to see whoever knocked. _Wait, shit._ He realized that he should probably grab a shirt.

He quickly snatches a t-shirt from the mess of them in his dresser which he never got the motivation to fix, and began pulling it on as he headed to the door.

He adjusted it to fit comfortably before opening the door to a panting Sock.

“Sock?”

The brunette’s eyes shot up to him, panting stopping like all the breath had been taken from him suddenly and efficiently.

“What are you doing out here? And why were you panting?”

Jonathan noticed color flooding into his friend’s cheeks, and knew he was missing something. Sock had been acting extremely weird lately, but not in the way of his classic brand of perplexity. He had said that he needed to think about things alone for a few weeks. That if he went off the map, that was why. He told Jon not to worry. He still did, to some degree.

Now he was here, staring up at him with a something-he-couldn’t-place in his eyes, and rosy red cheeks that almost made him feel secondhand embarrassment for something that had yet to be explained to him.

Sock took a deep breath before bringing his head up to face him, while his eyes went somewhere else. A lot of gibberish left Sock’s mouth in possibly a straight minute, Jon recognizing that as a nervous habit.

He gripped the boy’s shoulders, “Sock!”

Startled, the brunette’s eyes flicked to the blue in front of them. He instantly felt shy underneath that intense expression. Between that, and the strength of his hands on his shoulders, his pulse was nearly comparable to that of a hummingbird’s. _Am I vibrating? Can he_ feel me _vibrating?_

“Calm down. What happened?”

_Right. Right. I need to calm down… but how can I when he’s watching me like that?_

The taller’s eyebrows were raised in a slightly tender form of expectancy, eyes so calm and patient that Sock burned with hundreds of comments he would let come out if only… if only he could come out.

“W-well—“ _Crap, I stuttered_ “—I…” A harsh sigh came in frustration, and he started over. “I wanted to talk to you. I saw that your apartment was open, so I went in.” He used his hand to demonstrate as he spoke. “I figured that was rude, so I went back out quickly … and I haven’t had much exercise in awhile.” None of that was technically a lie. Being a compulsive liar, Sock felt a sudden wave of pride in that fact.

“Uh-huh.”

They stood there for a bit, Jonathan awkwardly releasing him after a few seconds of staring at Sock’s ever-burning cheeks, and how his eyes stood out so starkly above them. He threw a thumb over his shoulder, “You wanna…?” He trailed off.

“Sure,” Sock skipped over half the question in favor of getting the answer out of the way.

Sock flopped on Jonathan’s couch, trying to shake himself out of his emotions by acting somewhat normal. “I heard you listening to ‘If You Like It Or Not’ earlier…”

“Yeah,” Jon confirmed, “I was listening to ‘Violent Things’ on shuffle.”

“Love that album,” Sock commented. This wasn’t half-bad, just sitting here with him. The heat in his cheeks was still there, but it wasn’t like he didn’t have anything to talk to him about.

“Yeah. Thanks again for showing it to me.”

“Eh, I figured it was your style. Sure it’s pop, but there’s still some indie in there, which I know you’re into.”

Jon nodded.

Silence.

“So what did you wanna talk to me about?” Jonathan asked.

Sock froze. This suddenly felt like an interrogation. _So much for ‘not that bad’…_

“I… I…”

 _Oh, God, does he have to be looking at me like that? Or at all? Do I_ have _to be doing this? Why can’t I just let him find somebody he’ll_ actually _like?_

It was the cold hard stare, the way he walked, the nuisances in his speech, the adorable habits. It was in his D.N.A., something Sock couldn’t necessarily fault one thing for. But, God, was he head over heels for him, and it didn’t matter anymore how hesitant he was.

He was shaking, his stomach tied itself in knot–after-knot, his gaze becoming one of a scared animal as it fell into his lap. No matter how many symptoms there were, there was no cure except to go through with it.

“So—?“

“I’m in love with you.”

It was a shaky kind of confidence in the phrase. He was completely confident in his feelings, and wasn’t completely confident in how positively they would be received.

Jonathan didn’t speak for a bit.

Sock, the famous killer of silence, abruptly stood up and began shooting off at the mouth about leaving, “If you want, I could just go. I know how awkward this must be for you and—“ he fiddled with his hat, continuing to talk at a rapid speed.

Before he actually left, though, Jonathan slowly stood up. Sock bit his lip.

“… Are you done?”

That hurt. Sock just wanted an answer at this point. He thought he got it, but he needed it directly. _Just say that you don’t want me, Jonathan…_ “Y-yeah, I… I’m done…”

“Good.”

Without another word, Jonathan strode over and kissed a cheek that quickly bubbled up in red.

Sock blinked a few times; struck dumb and speechless.

He smiled.

  
In the same apartment a year later, two boys feverishly kissed each other, minds blank with bodies humming.

In a tender moment of intimacy—something breaking the hot game of some implied kind of tennis—Jonathan pulled back slightly, and kissed his boyfriend sweetly. Sock, sitting on the arm of the couch in front of his significant other, smiled in the close proximity. He was pushed back onto the couch.

Jonathan straddled him, and Sock closed his eyes, savoring every sensation Jonathan supplied him with. The feeling of his thighs on his, every bite, lick and kiss he left on him.

Soon his shirt was off and hands replaced it. Sock felt the need to reciprocate the gesture, running his hands up Jonathan’s pale torso before removing the t-shirt. Sock pushed Jonathan back when he tried to lean back down, noticing something upon raking his lustful eyes over his body. A spot of black ink was on Jonathan, _just above_ his hipbone, and with a single finger, Sock dared to pull down the bit of Jonathan’s jeans that covered it. He suddenly remembered the fox that stared at him, all thick black lines with an assuredly intense gaze under the nondescript fur. It was his first time seeing the fox up close. His eyebrow didn’t move much when it quirked upwards, his gaze trailing from the tattoo to his boyfriend’s eyes. “What’s this?”

Jonathan looked confused for a moment, wondering what exactly Sock meant. He _was_ hanging on his jeans after all…

“Your tattoo,” Sock clarified.

“Oh,” Jonathan began, forgetting that he’d even had it, “I got that about a year ago actually, right before we started dating.”

Sock began to inspect the tattoo, running his fingertips over the distinct lines as he asked him another question, “Why’d you get it?”

“I don’t know. I liked the design, and I wanted a tattoo, so…” Sock’s cool fingers on his skin distracted him.

“So no significance?” Sock confirmed.

“No…” Jonathan couldn’t help but ask, “…What do you think?”

“Hmm…” Sock sat back in dramatically pensive thought. He searched for the right adjective as Jonathan began to tremble under his stare. His position over Sock’s hips—his whole upper body being supported by his knees—wasn’t comfortable…

Sock met his eyes again once he was done taking a few more moments to stare. “Foxy.”

Jonathan raised an eyebrow, always hearing the word but never knowing what it meant.

“It’s like an outdated form of sexy,” Sock explained.

“So you like it?” Jon tried to confirm.

Sock paused, suddenly appearing devious, “I wanna see it run.”

Jonathan’s eyes bulged when he realized what that meant in Sock’s roundabout terms. Sock laughed.

Jon recovered, thinking of a comeback, “Well, give it a reason to, and it will.”

Sock laughed again, somewhat victoriously.

“Naturally.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs were from The Brobecks: Violent Things. They were mentioned, but if you didn't catch it, in order they were 'If You Like It Or Not' (I think that describes Sock n Jon's relationship very well) and 'Visitation of The Ghost'.


	8. Strange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sock and Jonathan are spending a quiet night in when a conversation quickly goes off the rails.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand I'm back! Hey guys, long time no see! Sorry this has gone un-updated for a while, but I'm working on other things now which you'll probably see somewhere in June because exams are coming up all-too-quickly for me :( Anyway, just wrote this little thing 'cuz I missed updating and got the idea. Btw, I LEAVE YOU ALONE FOR ONE SECOND AND I HAVE 70 KUDOS??? What is this madness?! You guys rock! Btw, thank you all so much for the wonderful comments and kudos you've been leaving!

Sock was in his own space of thought. It was close to nine on a Sunday evening, and the two boys sat contentedly in their apartment. They sat on an old number they’d picked up on a roadside—well, more like Jonathan picked it up on a roadside with a little help from the guy who threw it out… That had been a little embarrassing and awkward for all parties involved… the guy’s beard was filthy… At any rate, Jonathan was in sweats and a Ramones t-shirt, writing an email to the manager of the store he worked in about an incident that had occurred between two coworkers the other day. He’d stayed out of it, wisely, for it had quickly escalated to a body being thrown into the counter, very forcefully, he might add. The guy had gained a broken rib (or two, Jonathan didn’t remember) and that’s when another coworker stepped in and hauled the angry thug of a fellow coworker to the other side of the store. The victim had walked to the hospital, insisting that he was fine enough to walk the block or two from the store. Someone accompanied him, Jonathan couldn’t remember who though. He knew it was a girl… or wait, was it?

With Jonathan’s sock-clad feet on his lap, Sock sat was planted on one square of the couch with Jonathan sprawling out on the other four. He looked down at the feet and smiled lightly. Sock was glad that he’d converted Jonathan to wearing socks around the house. It had been another one of their hollow arguments, sprouting from a conversation that hadn’t started about socks, or any kind of footwear whatsoever. Hell, it hadn’t even stemmed from Sock’s name. Sock hadn’t been sure what caused them to bicker, but Jonathan had argued that bare feet around the house was so much better than walking around in socks all the time. All of Jonathan's points had been valid, and it seemed like Sock had lost the competition as to which way was better. Then, unconsciously, Jonathan had begun to wear more socks around their apartment, and when Sock had noticed the pattern after a few days, he grinned and kissed his cheek, seemingly for no reason to the blonde who hadn’t even realized he’d been doing it until a few solid weeks went by.

Sock was clad in a red sweatshirt he’d picked up at some thrift store that he used to frequent when he was a teenager. It had a small, dark stain near the elbow, and some of the seams were pulling on the lettering and pockets. Sock would wear the thing until it was completely unraveled, though. It was comfortable. He was also wearing one of Jonathan’s shirts—at least, he thought he was. Both boys’ clothes were too big for them most of the time, so neither could really tell who’s shirt was who’s unless it was colorful or had a band logo on it. He was almost positive that this was Jonathan’s, though, for it was bigger than his clothes normally were. He hadn’t really noticed when he put it on.

A thought popped into Sock’s head, “It’s kinda funny how there are so many words for ‘strange’, right?”

Jonathan wasn’t paying attention, and startled when Sock spoke up. His eyes trailed upwards to look at his boyfriend’s face, the cushion supporting Sock’s head as he gazed down at him from a crooked angle. Sock continued, “Strange… weird…”

“Odd,” Jonathan chimed after looking back down at his email.

“Odd, yeah. Oddball,” Sock offered. Jonathan snorted. In response, Sock giggled.

“Inexplicable,” Jonathan suggested, gaze drifting back to Sock.

“Extraordinary…”

“Unexplainable…”

“You’re coming up with all these good words, I thought you said you weren’t good with words,” Sock pointed out.

“Yeah, and it’s true. I dunno, it’s all just here now.” He shrugged.

Sock paused.

Jonathan picked it back up, “Unusual…”

“Off-kilter…”

“Off your rocker…”

Sock laughed, and managed through his giggles, “Are we talkin’ about ‘crazy’ or ‘strange’?”

Jonathan shrugged, a light smile breezing over a pink face while he pulled his knees to his chest.

Sock smiled in return.

They stopped for a few moments, until Sock thought of a good word, “Enigmatic.”

“Is that even a word?”

“Mhm! It means ‘like an enigma’.”

“What’s an enigma?” Jonathan knew he may have sounded dumb. He felt like he’d heard the word before, but he couldn't think of when or where.

“Like a strange thing that no one’s really sure what it is.” One of the many things Jonathan loved about Sock was that, no matter how dumb the question, he always took explaining something to someone seriously, and never sounded patronizing.

“Huh…” His expression changed to one of play, ready for banter. “…Puzzling.”

The sharpness of how the word was delivered tickled a laugh out of the brunette. “Baffling.”

“Unknown.”

“Peculiar.”

“Ah… unexplainable. Wait, we said unexplainable already, right?”

“You said unexplainable, yeah. Bizarre.”

“Unfamiliar.”

A silence swept over the apartment, the freezer being the thing to startle them both when a crashing from the inside due to the settling ice sounded. They laughed at the other’s reaction.

Sock hadn’t realized he’d crawled closer until the realization of how close they actually were hit him first. He may have blushed, however slightly. “I feel like we missed some,” he said.

“Wanna look it up?” Jonathan offered his phone after he saved the draft of the email. He’d have Sock proofread it later to make sure that he didn’t sound like a stoner. While he hadn’t been stoned during the time of the incident (in fact, he had only smoked a day in his life… nothing happened.) he was about as comparable to a zombie as a human being could get without having some muscle hanging off his face.

Sock took the phone, flipped it around in his hand so that it was right-side up, and typed ‘strange’ into the search engine.   
While they waited, Sock shifted to swing his legs over the edge of the couch and across Jonathan’s lap. Jonathan stretched out his legs again, wrapping an arm around Sock’s waist. Once comfortable, Sock checked the results, and held the phone so they could both see.

“Huh, we got a lot of ‘em,” Jonathan concluded, optimistically, “I didn’t think we’d get as many as we did.”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Sock teased. Jonathan elbowed him, a laugh and a soft ‘ow’ came from the boy technically on top of   
him. “Curious… anomalous, wow, big word,” and a laugh interrupted them both before Sock could continue, “um…”

Jonathan shifted the subject to another odd word. “Bizarro?” he chuckled.

“I was close,” Sock brought up.

“Yeah, you were, but god, do you know anyone who uses that?”

Sock stared at him for a moment, meaningfully.

“You do?” Jonathan asked, never having heard Sock use it before.

Sock dissolved into giggles, shaking his head. He managed, “No but I’m prob’ly gonna start.”

Jonathan chuckled a little at that.

Sock winded down with a sigh, and looked back at the phone. “Were there any others that we missed?... Uncanny. Atypical, offbeat. Man, how did you not get that one?”

Jonathan shrugged again. “I don’t know…Unnatural.”

Sock pressed his face to the side of Jonathan’s head, and drawled the word he’d missed to try and get another laugh out of him, “Outlandish.” He was addicted to Jonathan’s laugh. The deep rumbling had a light undertone, and it pulled Sock’s heart into his stomach. Thankfully, he got a fix in that moment. The whole situation was odd; Jonathan found himself having to laugh at it, just out of sheer amusement. He wasn’t sure when that switch had been flipped from a normal conversation to one between lovers, when or where it had been distinctly outlined, but he guessed that it was when he started laughing in sync with Sock, because his laugh just made him want to.

Sock buried his face in Jonathan’s hair, pulled back and kissed his head.

Jonathan took the phone from Sock’s hand. The brunette was too busy playing with his hair to notice. “Screwy,” Jonathan continued, “questionable.” He stopped. “Hey Sock?”

“Hmm?”

“Why are we doing this?”

“Doing what?” Wrapped in the scent of Jonathan’s conditioner, he momentarily forgot about what he started.

“Coming up with other words for strange?”

“Oh.” Sock came back to reality, and promptly grinned. “I have no idea.” Sock settled into Jonathan’s side, laughing lightheartedly, while Jonathan slapped a hand over his eyes. He breathed a laugh himself, and shook his head.  
He pulled Sock the rest of the way into his lap, and whispered, “What am I gonna do with you?”

Sock shrugged with one shoulder, settling further into him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw, I have Sock's sweatshirt.


	9. The Autopilot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally Written for the second Rare Ship Week. The prompt was Crossover/AU for Day 5 and I chose to do a Cyberpunk Liljo one-shot.
> 
> \---
> 
> The one upside Lil had in her shitty life was that she had Jojo, and at the moment, she didn't even have her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOly /shit/, long time no see! It's been awhile, hasn't it? Haha. Well, I'm back with something I wrote awhile ago for RSW, and now I can finally FINALLY put another ship in the tags! Because, well... it was for RSW, haha.
> 
> It's very light in the ship content and for that I'm sorry, but I actually really like this piece. I feel like it's very... me. I dunno.
> 
> Oh! BY THE WAY THERE'S A TRIGGER WARNING!!!!! LITERALLY THE BRIEFEST OF MENTIONS OF SELF-HARM BUT I DONT WANNA TAKE ANY CHANCES TAKE CARE OF YOURSELVES IF THIS UPSETS YOU. Sorry that was probably overwhelming; I'm just too lazy to take of caps lock.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy this Cyberpunk Liljo thing!

“This rubble is a bit treacherous,” The Autopilot said, lifting her mechanical leg to get over one bit of the mountain of debris.

“Your voice is a bit treacherous,” Lil muttered, honestly about to _here_ with The Autopilot infesting Jojo’s body. She got that the injuries to Jojo’s body were a bit traumatic, so she _had_ to go into autopilot until she got over the shock, but that didn’t mean that the autopilot was any less annoying. It made Jojo sound like a machine. Well, she was, but not entirely. She had a soul, and even though her body was made entirely of metal, she behaved like a normal human.

“Pardon?” The body halted all movement, leg up in mid-step. She set her leg down, then continued, “I don’t understand your use of the word ‘treacherous’ in that statement. Could you be a little clearer, please?” The Autopilot voice wasn’t even Jojo’s voice, which sucked, and it didn’t follow Jojo’s speaking pattern because it was just the body speaking, not Jojo. Hence why Lil called it ‘The Autopilot’, because Jojo wasn’t present at all in the situation, and the body was just carrying out basic functions, plus some _very_ straight-forward dialogue.

“Would it be clearer if I hit you with a brick?” Lil told her, not feeling the least bit guilty.

“... That would hurt.”

“Yeah, no shit, dumbfuck.” Her harshness wasn’t really necessary, but it was her way of letting anger out. She was furious with the world, what it had let itself become, with the fucker who took away her mom, with the fucker who killed her dad, and with the fucker who took her arm.

She flexed the bionic arm, twisted it. She felt the mechanism pinch the muscle of her actual arm, on the inside, sensed the gears grinding against her tendons, and briefly wondered if it was a form of self-harm. She stopped.

If there was one thing that The Autopilot did well, it was its job. Once, Lil had been in danger, and Jojo had been hurt, so The Autopilot had stepped in. The cold, unfeeling, metal hunk that was Jojo’s body, without hesitation, helped her out from the collapsing building. And every time since, The Autopilot has sensed whenever Lil was hurt, or scared, and has come to her aid.

“That isn’t nice language,” The Autopilot remarked, just as Lil slid down the debris pile to the other side.

Lil didn't want to tell The Autopilot that Jojo cursed just about as frequently, because she knew that The Autopilot would try to kick the habit if it were aware of it. Lil didn't want Jojo to quit cursing like a sailor. It was a habit, and while it was a vulgar one, it kept her feeling at least somewhat human. Lil couldn’t take that from her, especially now.

Sometimes, Lil just felt the need to be childish with her. “Asshole!” And she stuck her tongue out at the automaton, who couldn't see her from where she was.

“You’re the asshole,” a slightly deeper, more natural voice arose from the body.

“Oh, thank God it’s you,” Lil breathed, slumping over with relief.

Jojo climbed the rest of the debris pile and slid down it with ease to stand beside Lil. She really shouldn't have, for she was still recovering, if only a little, but that was just Jojo to be reckless like that. “Really killed ya this time, eh?”

Lil scoffed, “I swear one day she will.”

“Yeah, okay.” Lil was happy hearing Jojo's usual sarcastic teasing drift through the air.

“I’m serious!” Lil exclaimed, teasing.

“You’ll survive.” Jojo lightly punched Lil’s completely real arm, “You’ve got me, remember?”

“Right.” Jojo was one of those robotic companions that served a purpose. While she was a full-time travel companion, it was her job to protect Lil. Jojo’s model was rare, but the fact that she’d been human to begin with helped to give her a purpose so valuable. Lil weaved their fingers together. “S’all I need,” she stated, sincerely.

A ghost of a smile lifted Jojo’s lips with a short-lived mechanical sound.

“I feel your warmth…” Jojo murmured.

Lil smiled, “Good. It’d be a problem if you didn’t.”

“Don’t even joke.” Jojo’s voice sounded breathy, sad.

Lil furrowed her brows, and subconsciously slowed her pace. “Why, what’s wrong?”

Jojo looked at her. “You didn’t hear it?”

Lil shook her head.

Jojo stopped, and Lil turned to face her. Even though the two weren’t that far apart to begin with, Jojo still beckoned Lil with a finger accompanied by the same mechanical noise from earlier, one that Lil had come to associate with every one of Jojo’s physical actions. “Come closer,” she whispered.

Lil tentatively stepped into Jojo’s personal space, and the automaton-girl swayed backwards a little bit, not used to having anyone so close. Jojo held onto Lil’s shoulders to keep her balance, and leaned close to her ear.

It was odd what happened next.

Jojo said the word ‘feel’, it was clear as day. But in a hushed undertone, a different word slipped in, higher-pitched and robotic: ‘sense’.

Jojo slowly came down from the balls of her bare feet, head low so as to not meet Lil’s gaze.

Lil didn't know what to say.

…

“It’s The Autopilot,” Jojo began, figuring Lil deserved an explanation. “My goal is long-term, which is normal for a--” she swallowed, even though the dry, thick word was the only thing in her throat to swallow, “robot… but… that doesn't mean it’s common. Robots typically have longer life-spans than humans, but…”

Lil could see that this was the difficult part. Jojo began to twitch nervously, and she saw in her face how much the short mechanical sounds that echoed the movements bothered her.

“I had died beforehand. My soul was just transferred to this model… The doctors told me that… that this might happen. Where… I’ll still be able to be here, but I’ll… but my duties will take over the body, since its design wasn’t to have a soul in it.”

“So… The Autopilot is just--what?--taking you over?”

Jojo nodded, “Slowly putting me in a coma, essentially.” Jojo briefly looked to the side, and then to her companion, and her voice wavered as it escaped through her mouth. “Robots don’t feel, Lil… they sense.”

Lil couldn’t help the hot flush of feeling like she was about to cry flood through her face. She blinked the tears back into her skull and grabbed Jojo’s shoulders firmly with a tiny smile. “Hey,” she hesitated; she wasn’t good with words of comfort. “You’re my companion” and it sounded like a statement, before she added “just as much as I am yours” and she was proud when she found that it sounded coherent. “I’m here, okay? I’m always gonna be here, just like you’re always gonna be with me.”

Jojo nodded. She glanced up into Lil’s face with a smirk growing wider and teased, “Not by choice.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Lil shoved Jojo’s shoulder away as the other giggled. “You can’t just do that.”

“Just did.”

Lil groaned.

“Made ya smile, didn’t it?” Jojo questioned.

Only then did it hit Lil that she was.

“...Shut up,” she said, knowing full-well that she didn’t mean it.


End file.
